


Convulsive

by spobylol



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Guilt, Killing, Understanding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-09-05
Packaged: 2018-07-12 19:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7118668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spobylol/pseuds/spobylol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It only takes one second to do something terrible—something life-altering. And in just one second, I pulled the trigger."</p><p>After making an impulsive decision, Laurel seeks out Frank, who has recently disappeared, in the light of her new understanding of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Her once-bright eyes are unable to drift from her hands. She analyzes every small detail of her hands, which previously held the Beretta pistol from her father's cabinet, until she dropped it. Her hands continue to shake uncontrollably. They're in more disbelief than she is. The pistol is dead on the floor. She feels like she hasn't blinked in ages, but can't bring herself to. She kneels on the floor, grazing her hand against the grip of the pistol. She finally tears her eyes from it, and focuses on the body in front of her, which is only a few feet away.

He's dressed in a navy blue Armani silk suit, which is now soiled in a puddle of thin blood that flows from his chest. She looks further up, focusing in on his paling face. His graying hair has traces of his own blood in it, dying parts of it so that it has become a faint blend of red and gray. Her mind is clouded with a million thoughts about solutions like turning herself in, running away, or having Annalise cover the murder up for her. She's covered up other ones before, she would probably do it again. She needs to do something.

But all she knows for sure is that her father is dead. Her father is dead, and she's the one that pulled the trigger on him.

_What the hell have I done?_

* * *

She follows her GPS to the address she put in. As she drives, she tries to avoid thinking about the pistol sitting inside of her bag, resting on the passenger side seat. But it's there, and she used it. She used it to kill her father. His dead body is still there at their on the floor of their expensive Florida mansion. She drove for two days to get back to Philadelphia, staying at a lousy motel one night, despite having the money to stay at an expensive hotel. But she's on her way out of Philadelphia once again, to the one place she knew she needed to go to since the moment that she first got in her car.

It was a difficult place to get to, but she's finally made it. She parks her car in the parking lot of the cheap New York motel. She carries her bag cautiously as she enters the lobby. She's not sure how she's going to pinpoint his exact room number, because he was probably smart enough to use a fake name. But he's staying at this motel—it's got to be true. She  _needs_ him to be here. He's the only one that would understand the situation. And most of all, she feels like she owes him at least a partial apology because she gets it now. She gets how easy it is to do something stupid. She always thought everyone could control making a decision that brutal, but now she gets that sometimes, it's not that simple.

 

She feels hopeless. How the hell is she supposed to know which room he's staying in? The motel isn't ginormous, but it's not an easy task to figure out which room he's in. The only thing she can think of doing is watching every door until she sees him come outside, but she's not so sure that he's even going to be in the state of coming out of his room for days. She knows how complicated everything has gotten for him. Even Annalise hates him, or at least has been pushed by him far enough to want him gone for good. 

She runs her hand against the cold concierge's table, looking up at the man working there nervously.

"I really, really need your help," she admits, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes. It's not even acting. She can't stop thinking about the horrible thing she just did, and how badly she needs him right now. The concierge looks at her curiously, as if he actually may be willing to help her. She sighs before continuing, "I need to find the room of a man. He's very distinct. He has a full beard, jelled hair, usually wears a three-piece suit. He may have been wearing a t-shirt, which is usually what he wears in a more casual situation—"

"Miss, I'm sorry," the man says, shaking his head. "I really am sorry, but I can't... I, uh, I can't help you find one of our guests. It's against policy."

" _Please_ ," she pleads desperately. "I'm running out of options. I need to find him, and I can't think of any other way than asking you. I don't know how you're supposed to take my word for it, but I'm not trying to hurt your guest. We know each other. He'll want to see me."

"Miss, I can't..." he shakes his head again.

Laurel sighs, pulling her wallet out of her bag. She can feel the pistol inside of it, causing a lump to form in her throat. There's a goddamn gun in her bag right now. 

"I'm betting you don't get the biggest payday from working at a motel, so how about I help you out with that if you help me out with my problem?" she suggests, pulling out a few hundreds from her wallet. "All I need is for you to help me find this man, and you've got more money than you probably make in  _months_."

The man sighs. When Laurel looks into his eyes, she knows that he's being persuaded. The money is drawing him. It's a good deal. Five minutes of his time will get him a lasting amount of cash. Laurel feels like finding him is overdue. All she can think about his how worried she was when she went to his apartment that day, and had thought that he had killed himself. God, she was planning on devoting all her time to looking for him after that moment, but Annalise had commanded that no one look for him. But things are out of hand now. The circumstances are different.

"Okay," the man agrees, swallowing hard. "But you have to agree not to tell  _anyone_ I did this. Are we clear?" She nods her head, and the man opens the guestbook. He begins flipping through it. "I believe I saw a man that fit the description you gave me who checked in under the name of... Sammy... something. Give me a moment." He flips one more page, and his eyes light up. "Got it. Room 202," he announces.

"Thank you for your time," she says, slipping him a rather fat stack of bills.

* * *

Her hands tremble before she finally gains the courage to knock on the door of Room 202 gently. She's not even sure if this guy is him. There are probably a whole ton of bearded, hair-jelled men who stay in sleazy New York motels. She stares at the floor, not wanting to seem desperate, although she's so goddamn desperate. The situation is terrible. 

When the door opens, he's there. It's him. It's really him.

His eyes go wide upon the sight of her. He looks so stunned, but not at all upset to see her. His jaw is quivering as his eyes focus on her.

"Frank," she says weakly. Her vision becomes cloudy, and tears begin to fall down her cheeks. He hates to see her like this—God, he hates when she's upset so damn much. He wants to make everything okay for her, but he knows that he can never be everything for her. She's not his to comfort anymore. 

"Laurel," he says, desperate to reach out and hold her. It takes him all his self-control, but he just stands in place. He'll wait for her to explain why she's here. "Laurel, what are you doing here? How did you find me? I thought you'd never want to see me again."

"I thought I wouldn't either, but I... I went to see Oliver and had him do some hacking to track your credit card spending," she confesses, although she knows that's probably not the right thing to say when she needs him so badly. "But I..." she sounds so broken as she speaks, and Frank can't take it. He's dying to do something for her—whatever the hell she needs to become calm again. "Frank, I messed up so badly.  _So_ badly. And I need you now."

"You had Oliver hack me?" he questions. "Goddamn... I screwed up once and ran out of cash, but I needed to buy food so badly—"

"Please," she begs, cutting him off. "Can I come inside?"

He immediately nods his head.

"Of course."

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

"You gonna tell me what you did that's so messed up?"

She stares at the floor distraught and unable to look into his eyes. He raises his eyebrows, looking directly at her curiously. He hasn't seen her with a look o her face like this since she came to him the night of Sam Keating's murder. And this time, it's even worse... the look in her eyes is so broken.  _She_ looks so broken, and doesn't resemble the ambitious law student she was on her first day at Middleton. Working for Annalise changed everything, and they both know that damn well.

He takes a deep breath during her silence, and finishes pouring fresh coffee into a mug. Carefully, he walks over to the couch, kneeling so he can get the mug into her hands. While she accepts it, her fingers brush against his. Her broken eyes meet with his—his eyes, which have also been destroyed by all the terrible decisions he's made in his life. And for the first time since finding out about Lila, Laurel doesn't look into his eyes and think of him as a bad person. 

"Laurel," he says calmly. His deep voice soothes her even in this drastic situation. "You're talking to  _me_ right now. You know I'd never judge you for whatever it is that you've done. Who am I to judge? Whatever it is can't be as horrible as everything I've done."

"It... is," she admits, her voice shaky as she speaks. "I've been acting like I'm better than you..but I'm no better than you, Frank... and I shouldn't have been so stupid to think I'm a good person.

"You're falling into the concept of moral absolutism. You're a good person... you just did a bad thing," he reminds her. "And hey, if you're gonna tell anyone about what you did, it might as well be me." He tilts his head to the side. "I'm here for you."

She struggles, but she finally manages to truly analyze his eyes. They're genuine. When he speaks, what he's saying is genuine—she can tell. He isn't going to run away from her. And maybe she doesn't deserve his support, considering how she ran away from him the moment that he gained the guts to tell her what he did to Lila Stangard. 

But she feels like she can trust him in this moment. So, maybe it took killing her father to understand that Frank isn't this terrible person that she convinced herself that he is, but she got to that point. She reaches over and grabs her bag, shoving her hand into a tiny, unzipped crack. His eyes are fixed on her with complete curiosity while she searches her bag. It doesn't take long for her to feel the grip of it inside. God, she's afraid that she's such a monster that she would pull that trigger again. She looks up at him with desperation in her eyes for one moment before fully pulling it out from her bag. Immediately, she sets it down on the glass table in front of them. 

"Laurel..." he furrows his eyebrows. 

"It only takes one second to do something terrible—something life-altering. And in just one second, I pulled the trigger."

He doesn't seem to be terrified by her. He doesn't seem to have changed his opinion of her. He doesn't look at her like she's some kind of monster, even though he has no idea what she's really done with this pistol. 

"What is this?" he asks, surprisingly calmly. But the concern in his eyes is real. It isn't concern that she's a monster, though, it's just concern that she's made a poor decision. He doesn't want her to live a life filled with regret. He has firsthand experience on how terrible that is to carry the weight of regret, and he would never want Laurel to feel that same pain... but he's afraid that she's going to have to.

"What do you think it is?" she says sarcastically, although she knows that bitterness is not going to help her in any way.

"I know it's a gun," he almost rolls his eyes. "Seriously... what happened?"

She reaches over to the glass table, running her hand on the grip of the pistol one more time.

"I shot my father," she confesses bluntly. Frank furrows his eyebrows. He knows exactly the type of man that her father is, but he never thought that she would go to the extent of killing him for it. "I went to Florida, and he was..." the tears begin rolling down her cheeks again. She doesn't want to cry in front of him, and he knows that. Her voice is almost as broken as the look in her eyes. "He was, uhm... he was up to the same crap that he used to do. And he told me that he would stop, and that he would finally be the man that is there for my mother and the rest of my family." She shakes her head, a bitter smile forming on her face. "Frank, I goddamn  _believed_ him when he said he would stop."

Frank sighs, staring at the floor briefly. He knows that she's better than this.

"He was a bad man... we both know that he deserved what he got," he tries to console.

"I don't disagree. He deserved it, but it wasn't  _my_ decision. The law doesn't give me the right to decide whether my father deserves to live or not!" she cries frantically. She begins to scratch the couch in frustration. She searches for calmness, but can't reach it. Her eyes become so cloudy again... Frank becomes a blur in her eyes as the salty droplets rush down her cheeks furiously. He reaches over for her hand, unsure if he's disrespecting the barriers that formed when she broke up with him, but that's the least of his concerns. He's not a guy who can just sit there calmly while someone he loves is falling apart right in front of him.

She doesn't oppose his touch. She allows him to squeeze her hand reassuringly. She's surprised that he can even look at her like she's worth something after the terrible thing that she's done.

"God, Frank..." she sniffles as she speaks. "I spent so much time antagonizing you for killing Lila, but...it's so simple. You're in the heat of the moment, you do something stupid, and your life is screwed up forever. You don't have to be a terrible person do be capable of something terrible in the heat of the moment." 

He raises his eyebrows.

"I'm  _sorry_ ," she blurts, losing control of herself completely. She melts, falling into his arms, staining his white t-shirt with her tears. Her head is crashed against his chest. She's holding on so tightly.

He puts his hand on her back, rubbing it gently, trying to coax her.

"Laurel, I've done a lot of bad things in my life, but  _you_ ," he sighs, shaking his head. "You're not like me. You're one of the good ones."

"That's not true."

"But it  _is_ ," he argues, pulling her back upwards so she's facing him and sitting up. "I'm not gonna let you get hurt, okay? Annalise hates my guts, and I don't work for her anymore, but... I'm still gonna protect you from this."

"Why does she hate you?" Laurel suddenly asks. "You disappeared, and I assumed it was because there's more to the story about the night that it happened with... Lila. And it makes sense. Why else would Annalise disappear to Memphis the day after I blurted to her that you killed Lila? Did she not know—"

"She didn't know," he says, staring at the floor. "She was just like you guys... she thought that Sam killed her."

"I know I didn't listen before, but.. but you listened to me.. and I.. I wanna listen to you now," she says, scooting closer towards him.

His expression is so pained. He doesn't like talking about this. He remembers how he lost Laurel the moment that he told her about this. And for some reason, he feels like he's getting her back. He wishes that she wouldn't have to deal with the repercussions of killing her father, but for obvious reasons, it's changed her to the point where she's not completely judgmental about how he killed Lila.

"Why would you need to kill a random sorority girl, Frank? If you didn't do it for Annalise..." she starts, raising her eyebrows. "Look, I get how easy it is to do something stupid now.. and that's not a good thing, but I learned from it. I judged you for what happened, but I think I can understand it now. You would never do anything without a reason. Maybe you were in the heat of the moment like me, and made a bad decision—"

"It goes back to Wallace Mahoney," he suddenly speaks up. He can barely look at Laurel. He feels that she's going to think he's an even worse person after hearing the truth behind the Lila murder. "Annalise didn't treat me very well. She never failed to remind me that she and Sam saved my ass from a 'white-trash' life..and I got ripped on.. a lot. I know that doesn't justify anything, but I was pissed at her.. And this woman came along.. she told me that I can stop being Annalise's bitch. That $50,000 in the suitcase? She, uh... she was the one that offered it to me. She said if I bugged Annalise's hotel room during the Charles Mahoney case, I could have the money. They told me that they wanted to get a mistrial by using the bug.. so I agreed. I was so mad at Annalise that I didn't think it would be all that bad if she lost her case. But..."

Laurel's eyes widen when she sees Frank's eyes filling with tears. His eyes are turning red. God, she can tell how much this hurts him. She doesn't even know what it is he did that led to him killing Lila yet, but she already can see how affected he is by it—how much guilt he feels for it. She can sense how much whatever he did is still eating him alive today. She doesn't know how she missed it before, and how she thought he killed her out of malicious intentions. She's pretty sure that it's because she convinced herself that every murder is malicious, only until she realized how easy it is to make a mistake like that... so easy that even she—who regrettably believed she was on a high-horse compared to him previously—could make it.

"I'm the reason she got into a car accident," he suddenly blurts. He looks away from Laurel shamefully, trying to wipe the tears off his face while he's not looking at her. He turns back, trying to calm himself down, but it's all too hard for him. Is Laurel going to hate him? He killed an innocent sorority girl and her unborn child, and he also killed the unborn child of Annalise Keating. "They... they didn't use the bug to just get a mistrial... they ran a red light and hit her with a car, and she was rushed to the hospital. She could have died.. and even though she didn't die, her... baby did. She and Sam lost their baby because of me. I wanted to tell Annalise immediately, but Sam told me that I can't. He was so mad, I—I don't know. I screwed up."

Laurel pieces it together. Sam must have held that over him. 

"And he asked you to kill Lila?" she asks.

He nods his head weakly.

"He told me that I owe him.. and maybe he's the one who wanted her dead, but I'm the one who did it. I'm the one that went on the roof of that sorority house and strangled her to death."

Laurel raises her eyebrows. She still feels disgusted at herself for being so horrible to him. She doesn't  _feel_ like Lila's death is Frank's fault. She still blames Sam for it.

"You didn't want to kill Lila. It's technically still Sam's fault—" Laurel tries.

"No," he shakes his head. "You can try and peg me as a good person who didn't mean to cause any harm, but what I did is far worse than anything you've ever done. So... stop trying to make sense of it. I'm never gonna be the guy you want me to be."

"Frank—" she begins.

"Please. Don't," he looks away. 

"You're not my father," she says. She places her hands on his cheeks cautiously, and forces his head to turn back and face her. She rubs her thumbs on his cheeks, wiping away the tears that have been streaming down. "I was furious at you for what you did because I thought you were the same as my father. But you're not. And maybe I don't know exactly how what happened with Annalise and Sam's baby affected you, but I do know that you are the person you are today because of it." She pulls herself closer to him. "I'm not saying you haven't done anything bad, but... why do you have to beat yourself up for it? The people around you guilted you for something you didn't know better."

"It doesn't matter if I knew about it!" he almost yells. "What matters is that Annalise and Sam lost their baby because of me."

His eyes won't look at her.

"You're acting as if you support me, but when you first heard about what I did, you thought I was your father, and maybe that's just who I am. You think that it's different now that you made a mistake, too.. but it's not. It's the same. You're never gonna be like me," he shakes his head. "I'm not..."

"You're not what?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"I'm not  _worthy_ of somebody like you."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Laurel presses her lips together, staring at him with utter concern. God, he's a  _mess_. He's not the one that shot his father to his death tonight, but he's the one that's a mess. Laurel can see the guilt riding through him in his eyes. It's so terrible that he doesn't even think he deserves her after she's confessed to killing her father. She thought that they would just have each other, and could relate through the terrible things that they've done. But he's still looking at her like her morals are better than his.

She places her hands on his cheeks, trying to straighten his face so he's looking at her. But he can't look at her. He can only stare at the floor, tears dripping out of his eyes. For all the time she's known him, he rarely even cries, but he's crying now. 

"You need to leave," he says quietly, still unable to look into her eyes. "I don't want you to..."

"Want me to  _what_?" she says in disbelief. "See you like this? Because I am, and it's the most honest I've ever seen you."

He finally musters up all the courage he has left in this mortifying scene and turns his head so that he's looking right at her. A smile curls on her lips—a genuine one, as if she doesn't see him as a monster for everything he's done. 

"You don't have to do this," he tells her. She raises her eyebrows in confusion as he begins to continue speaking, "...pretend like you don't think I'm sick. If you're worried that I won't help you with what you did, you're wrong. I'll protect you from it—"

She leans in aggressively, pressing her lips against him to cut him off—a gesture that startles him. It takes him a long moment to process what just happened and kiss her back. He never thought they'd get back to this point, considering everything that was said and done. But here Laurel is, divulging every ounce of passion that she still holds for him into a kiss.

She moves her hand to the back of his neck, tangling her hand into his hair, which is already messy from the absence of care over the past time where he's been isolated from the world of Annalise Keating. She leaves her mouth wide open, practically pleading for him to push his tongue inside, which he gladly does. She allows herself to move closer to him, climbing onto his lap and wrapping her legs around his hips. In return, he settles his hands on her lower back, holding her close against his chest. It takes a lot of willpower to put an end to it, but Laurel pulls back slightly, while remaining in his hold. Her nose is still pressed against his. Both their eyes open simultaneously and immediately lock afterwards. She rounds her hand back from his hair and caresses his cheek once again.

"You  _are_ worthy," she says quietly, but with so much force. 

He swallows hard, not knowing what to do next. His nerves calm immensely knowing that he's been forgiven by Laurel.

"Laurel, I know I...told you this before, but it wasn't in the best context, and it was selfish as hell, but—" he starts, stumbling over his own words. "I'm not the best with words, and I know that...but I..." he pauses nervously, searching her intent eyes for approval. "I love you."

She recalls when he said it to her...hidden away in the basement of Annalise's house, trying to get her to forgive him after confessing to killing Lila. It certainly was not the best timing, but she understood every part of it now. He thought that telling her that he loved her would make things okay again.

"I'm sorry that it took..." she hesitates, sniffling between her words. "...that it took me doing... _this_ to understand everything." God, he needs to hear her say it back at least once. He looks at her even more intently than she looked at him before, in a manner that almost reaches desperation. "I love you, too, okay? I do, and I was trying to convince myself that I didn't, and that's why I said what I did when you first said it to me."

"I'm not mad at you for not saying it back that time," he says, shaking his head. She lets go of his cheeks and brings her hands down to his chest. Instead, he brings his hands up to her face, pushing a strand of her soft brown hair out of the way and behind her ear. "Forget everything that happened before," he says with a newfound confidence. "We're gonna figure everything out, and we're gonna be okay from this point forward. I've got your back."

She feels secure when she hears him say that, and maybe it's a twisted thing to be relaxed that her boyfriend is going to take care of the murder she just committed, but that's pretty much what her life has come to after beginning to work for Annalise.

"Frank, I can't do this anymore," she suddenly says, a true sadness emerging in her eyes.

"What?" he asks, disappointment surging through every part of his body. God, he thought that everything had been resolved—that they were getting back together and moving forward from here on out. Pain fills his chest. He just got her back, and now he's going to lose her again?

"Not us," she clarifies. He sighs in relief, trying to calm himself down. "Sorry for my poor choice of words, but I meant... I can't keep living like this. I can't keep being a part of the murders and the cover-ups. I hate the feeling of knowing that I could go to jail at any minute. And we just keep doing more illegal crap, and it keeps getting worse and worse by the day. I  _can't_ , Frank. You know how much I wanted to be someone better than my father."

"Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it," he assures her, raising his eyebrows.

"I want  _us_ to escape it," she admits nervously. "I know it's risky and everything has become insane by now, but I can't keep on letting everything become even worse. We need a fresh start."

"Laurel—" he begins.

"No, please... listen," she says in a serious tone. "You've been through more crap than I have with Annalise, so you know how much working for her has screwed your life up. What if we could get away from this and start over? Somewhere that's not so corrupt?"

"Are you serious?" he asks.

"Dead-serious," she nods her head. "Think about it...I can apply for a transfer to another school, hopefully somewhere far away from Middleton, and we can find you a new job, and we would be free from all this crap. I could have a chance of becoming a normal person again—a real lawyer. And we could be a normal couple, doing normal things."

Frank looks off to the side, sighing. She really means what she's saying, and that scares him. He's always wondered if he would ever be able to get away from the games he played with Annalise, but it always felt impossible. She had always expected him to stay loyal to her, and keep doing her dirty-work. But that was then, and this is now: Annalise hadn't wanted to see him since she found out what he had done to her baby.  _She_ cut the ties with him, so she wouldn't care where he went from here on out, would she? She hadn't given a crap about his whereabouts for all this time, so maybe it really is the end of his ties to her.

"Where would we go?" he suddenly asks, turning back to look at her.

A smile curls on her lips, realizing that he's considering the idea. He seems to actually be willing to leave with her.

"Wherever we want to," she answers, reaching over to take his hand. She squeezes it lightly, and continues, "Really, Frank... wherever the hell we wanna go, we can go. I just have to apply for a transfer to a different school."

"Wherever we want, huh?" he grins.

She nods her head again, smiling along with him. The idea feels like a dream. She doesn't know if it's going to work—if Annalise is even going to let her leave—but she has to at least try. She can't stay here and be a part of this anymore. Connor already applied for a transfer to Stanford, so clearly he was done with everything, too. Escaping would bring normalcy to her life again.

"We can think about it for a bit... I still have a few weeks until transfer applications are due," she explains to him. "I have to wait to see if they'll accept me, too."

"They'll accept you. They don't know what any of us have done wrong. All they can see is how brilliant you are," he tells her.

She bites her lip, brushing her thumb against the back of Frank's hand sweetly.

"Getting away from here seems like it's forever away, doesn't it?" she asks.

He nods his head.

"I hadn't even been thinkin' about getting out of this place... it didn't even cross my mind that it's an option," he confesses to her. "I mean, I wanted to leave, but I just never thought it was possible."

"It might take a while, but it's possible," she reminds him. "But... we can start worrying about sorting out the details tomorrow, can't we?"

He raises his eyebrows at her, trying to figure out what she wants from him.

"What is it, Laurel?" he asks.

"Nothing," she answers, and simply leans in to kiss him chastely. It's short, brief, and tender, but it feels like home.

When she pulls back, he gives her a look of disbelief.

"I just wanted to worry about dealing with getting away from here tomorrow, and... tonight, I, uh... I really just wanted to focus on being with you, okay?" she confesses. It only makes him smile at her more.

"Okay," he nods his head. "You're staying here, right?"

"Where else would I go?" she smiles.

He gets up from the couch and walks into the other room. She stays where she is, waiting patiently for him to return. She doesn't know what he's doing right now, but she's learned from her mistakes... she's not going to assume the worst in him. She trusts him. She understands why and how he did what he did. 

He returns in about a minute, reassuring Laurel that learning to trust him was a good decision. He's still smiling at her as he hands her a t-shirt and shorts.

"I thought you'd wanna be comfortable while sleeping," he explains.

"Thank you," she says, taking the clothes from his hands.

He nods his head, and watches her as she turns around to start walking towards the bathroom to change. But she stops herself just seconds after she starts, and turns back around to face Frank again. She drops the clothes on the table and rushes towards him. She props herself onto her tip-toes, and presses her lips against Frank's passionately, combing her fingers through his hair. He rests his hands on her back gently, kissing her with equal passion. Everything is so complicated right now, and he knows that damn well, but God... it sure as hell doesn't feel that way while he's kissing her. It feels like coming home after the coldest day and sitting right by the fire, drinking hot chocolate—finally feeling warm again. All the numbness is finally gone.


End file.
